


Culture Shock

by MartialArtist25



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Friends (TV show), Friends to Lovers, I love these guys a ton, M/M, Pining!, Roquill - Freeform, Terran Culture is wierd, Vacation, explicit to cover my bases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MartialArtist25/pseuds/MartialArtist25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rocket's newly realized feelings for his half-Terran teammate have given rise to a few... habits (but who can resist the hilarious antics of the hit Terran television show "Friends" ?).  Will Rocket's interest in Terran culture drive him off the deep end? Or will it provide just the right bridge to connect him to the famous Star Lord (who just might feel the same way!)? Let the Roquill fly!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys (girls, etc., whoever chances upon this). I don't ship all too often, but this pairing is the exception. All comments/criticisms/concerns are more than welcome. Enjoy!

“Goodnight, fuzzy one.”

Rocket considered fighting Drax’s latest term for him, but decided he was too tired. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let the bedbugs bite…”

“... Is Peter Quill aware of this infestation?”

Rocket gave a heavy sigh. “Goodnight, Drax,” he projected wearily after himself, already outside the cockpit of the Milano. The genetically modified raccoon was just glad it wasn’t his turn to fly (rather, oversee the autopilot) the da’st ship anymore. Whatever time it was on whatever planet they were flying to, it was late, and high time for some sleep. Zombie-like, he located Groot’s and his quarters. The colossus florus, now the size of a sapling tree, was sitting dormant next to the bed. Rocket had learned traveling with the big guy that he really didn’t sleep, so much as enter a weird kind of unshakeable stasis; it was like he became an actual tree. Not even acknowledging his massive friend, Rocket threw himself onto the bed, clothes and all, exhausted. The ship had almost wandered into an asteroid field on his watch, and he actually had to pilot the Milano for a good chunk of his shift. And on top of that, it was the tail end of a double; when Gamora came up to take her turn, Rocket had sent her away, much to her protest. Anything to stay out of his quarters.

And that’s when it caught his eye: his tablet. He groaned in annoyance.

Of course, the Milano that the Nova Corps. had refitted had been outfitted with state of the art crap like that. Even still, Rocket had upgraded his to his own standards. But it wasn’t the tablet that had him up all night, it was what he could find with it. And it was, really, all Quill’s fault.  
Groggily, Rocket sat upright, got out of his bed, and retrieved the tablet. He had promised himself he wouldn’t do this. He was stronger than this, way flarkin stronger.

  
It had all started a month or two back, right after Ronan bit the big one at the hands of the Guardians. The poor raccoon was devastated by Groot’s sacrifice as the Dark Aster plummeted to the surface of Xandar. His first and best friend in the whole universe was gone, ripped right out from under him. Of course, to Rocket’s utter delight, Groot would grow back to his good old self. But in the days directly after the ordeal that was Ronan’s life, Rocket was a shell of his former self. Depression was an understatement. He drank, he sulked, he built bombs big enough to blow up moons. Anything he could do to keep his mind off of the tree man. Worst of all, and much to their worry, he isolated himself from the rest of the Guardians. What would become of his place on the ship now that Groot was gone? Surely, he’d have to hit the proverbial road. Rocket couldn’t possibly fathom they’d need him with Groot out of the picture. He was just a little freak after all, some terran animal forced up onto two legs. He hadn’t asked to be made, so how could anyone else want him around? Although this was far from the truth, Groot had taken Rocket’s already shaky certainty and stability with him when he shattered into a million tiny twigs.

He probably would have left, too, if it wasn’t for two things: one, Groot started to grow back relatively quickly; two, Quill refused to let him go. Of all the Guardians, he had reached out to the raccoon the most. Whenever he drank himself sick, Peter had been there to carry him back to the ship, to make sure he didn’t kill someone at the bar just for looking at him weird. Whenever he was in a particularly dark mood, it was Peter who noticed and decided to turn up Awesome Mix Volume 1 or 2 and started dancing around in vain to try and cheer him up. Whenever he locked himself away in his quarters, it was Peter who came knocking on the door to remind him of meals or whatever, or just to offer a shoulder to lean on.Of course, Rocket never let the humie in, but it still meant a lot to him. A whole lot. Not to say that Drax and Gamora didn’t try. Drax was by far the more successful of the two, but his literalness and blunt personality left very little for the two to connect on, and Gamora was just about as bad at “feelings” as Rocket was. So it was Peter Quill’s warm personality that had left the biggest impression on Rocket when he needed it most.

And then Rocket really started to grasp what he and Groot had stumbled upon that day on Xandar when he tried to bag Quill’s sorry ass: real friends. Save for Groot, who at that point was sadly a stick in a pot, Rocket had never had that. Certainly not in the laboratory where he was made, certainly not in transient life as a bounty hunter. As a result he started to grow rather close to his fellow crew members on board the Milano. Shamefully so, as he would discover, to the captain of the ship.  
In the beginning, Rocket dismissed such feelings as gratitude for the kindness Quill had shown him in the wake of Groot’s “death.” But other feelings soon formed on Rocket’s emotional radar. He started to realize he just liked being around Peter, something about his mannerisms, his smile, the way his eyes exuded life… he was drawn to Peter in a way he wasn’t drawn to the other Guardians. He started watching him when he danced, started asking him in particular to go out drinking when they were on world. He even started to get these strange pangs of nervousness, of fuzzy, tingly feeling when he was around the half-terran. Not in a way that threatened the group dynamic, but it was a subtle change. By the time he realized what was going on, it was too late. Rocket Raccoon was in love with Starlord.

That stark realization came as a shock to the raccoon. One minute, everything was great in the microcosm of the Milano, and then OH MY GOD I”M IN LOVE WITH A FLARKIN TERRAN GUY. It finally dawned on him when he noticed these wild spots of jealousy he felt when Quill brought a girl or the odd guy back to the ship. The complete and utter shame Rocket felt, especially when his feelings for Quill took a turn for the errotic, tortured him. Peter was his friend, his good friend. How would he react when he found out the talking raccoon was pining for him? But to think that he would ever find out about his feelings was out of the question entirely. Put simply, it would jeopardize everything. And not to mention the disgust Rocket imagined on Quill’s face. How could anyone ever love him like that? Sure, he had friends now, but that’s where sentient interaction ended for Rocket. He had never, ever, even considered having sexual relations with another being, let alone an actual romantic relationship.

So he would hide his feelings, and hopefully he could kill them off like an offending Kree, not let them ruin the good thing he had going here as a Guardian of the Galaxy. And of course, this emotional effort lead to more drinking, sulking, weapon building, and less but still noticeable isolation. But despite Rocket’s ferocious efforts, his love for Quill started to escape in little ways. Like, sometimes, he’d catch himself staring idly at the half-terran; at the table on the main deck of the Milano, in the cockpit, anywhere, really. Sometimes Quill caught him. They’d laugh it off, but inside Rocket was terrified. He also started listening to Peter’s music, learning the words. He’d even started absentmindedly researching terran culture on the UD (universal database) on his modified tablet.

And that little quirk is what brought Rocket to be ravenously watching episodes of a terran television series called “Friends,” despite his being tired out of his mind. He had started his searches between the terran years 1980 and 1990, the time period he knew Quill would recognize best, as that was the time from which he was abducted by Yondu and the Ravagers. But it was all downhill from there. He generally stayed away from what was modern terran culture, but he was hooked on anything that came out of the 80s, 90s, or early 2000’s. Soon, he learned who Kevin Bacon really was, he found out about Ranger Rick, and he learned all the songs on both Awesome Mixes down to the very last notes. Although the cartoons featuring anthropomorphic animals as the main cast were some of his favorites, the one thing he was absolutely hooked on was Friends. The worst part was, he had absolutely no flarkin idea why he gave a damn about a group of six wildly dysfunctional humies living in a filthy city, but he did. In most violently kept secret, Rocket binge-watched however many episodes he could at a time without the rest of the Guardians noticing he had been gone longer than his depressed self normally was.

Some episodes he even rewatched. “The One That Could Have Been” was his favorite and the one he was watching now. He always laughed his ass off when they showed Monica in the fat suit.

This new obsession with terran culture soon knocked out his other vices, and Rocket outwardly seemed to be back to normal. Except Rocket began to lose track of time when clamped to his tablet. Unresponsive, he would slip away for longer and longer periods of time to his quarters, and the other Guardians began to worry more than ever before. Now, whatever it was he was doing, he was hiding it from his friends.

One night not long before, Rocket’s friends had got to talking at yet another dinner Rocket was absent from, choosing to quickly grab his meal and steal away to his room.

“Something’s got to be done, Quill,” Gamora stated.

“I know…” he replied.

“We are very worried about our furry friend, we don’t know what he’s doing so often in his quarters,” Drax lamented.

“I know…” Peter said again.

“I am Groot,” the plant man added.

Peter was frustrated. “I know, I know! But what are we going to do? We can’t just barge in there and demand he come join us. He’s worse at feelings than you are, Gamora.”

Quill received a reproachful look from the former assassin. “Be that as it may, we can’t just do nothing. Aside from Groot, you seem closest to him of all of us...”  
Peter sighed. “I’ll talk to him. But if he shoots me between the eyes in the end, I’m coming back to haunt you,” he quipped, his bright smile flushing across his face.

“I am Groot,” Groot smiled.

And now, back in the present, was Starlord standing outside of Rocket’s door as the raccoon watched Friends. Awoken by a worried Gamora, freshly denied her turn to pilot the Milano, Quill had seen Rocket nearly sleepwalk into his room after taking the double shift (and had even heard Drax worrying aloud about bedbugs). Peter figured that after such a shift, as well as the asteroid field issue, which everyone on board had felt, Rocket would be plenty tired, and therefore a lot easier to deal with. He really did care about the little guy, and wanted to see him happy again. In fact, he had always had a soft spot for the Rocket. But he knew getting procyon to discuss whatever it was that was bothering him would be a task indeed. Even before Groot’s reset button was hit, Rocket was a very solitary individual when it came to emotions. After that trauma, Quill imagined it would only be harder for him to open up. Regardless of his reservations, Peter knocked on the door to Rocket and Groot’s quarters.

Here goes nothing, he thought. “Hey, Rocket? You up, buddy?”

Rocket froze, caught red-handed. He almost tossed the tablet aside, mid episode. Thinking better, he quickly scampered over to the device and wiped the screen of the video stream. He messed his fur up like he’d been snug under his sheets. “Whaddya want, Quill? I’m trying to sleep here.” he slurred.

“I.. well, I wanted to talk to you about something… Gam, Drax, Groot and I are starting to worry about you, you’ve been hiding in your room a lot lately, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Peter tried not to be too upfront, but he couldn’t seem to mask his deep concern.

Lost for a moment in the flow of Quill’s voice, the silence shook Rocket out of it. Shit. Rocket was really starting to get nervous now. In that moment he knew that no amount of television could get Peter out of his warmer thoughts; he’d been on the da’st tablet for hours on end and still he couldn’t help but eat up the auditory stimulation coming from his friend. He tried to ward the half-terran off.

“Flarkin just let me sleep, nothing’s wrong here.”

“Are you sure?” Peter wasn’t convinced. He had known that he’d probably have to force his way into the room, but he really didn’t want to.

Rocket didn’t answer, deciding that maybe if Peter thought he was asleep, he’d go away. He wouldn’t care enough to try to force his way into his business, right? This solution would only postpone the inevitable confrontation, but it was a start.

However, the raccoon was proved rather wrong. “... Well, I’m coming in anyway,” he said from behind the door, and Rocket heard the locking mechanism begin to function. Trapped, he racked his brain for possible escapes. He couldn’t run, that would be too suspicious. Straight up attack Quill? It wasn’t out of character for him to get a little violent, or- but then, it struck Rocket how awful this whole situation was. Was he really this afraid, was he really so weak as to let himself get cornered like this? It was stupid, it was-

The door opened to reveal a sleepy Peter Quill in pajamas, a shirt and his boxers. Immediately, Rocket feigned sleep. “Come on, man, I know you’re not asleep. Why does this have to be so difficult? I just want to make sure you’re okay.” No answer came from Rocket. “It’s really strange, you spending all your time in here. Not building anything, barely eating. I don’t think you’ve even had a sip of alcohol for two weeks.” Peter chuckled a little at that last bit. “C’mon, let me in Rocket, what’s bugging you? And don’t tell me it’s bedbugs, cuz you’ve really thrown Drax into a fit with that bit.” Seeing as Rocket still appeared dormant, Peter sighed. It seemed he’d have to work a little harder than that. He figured he had nothing to lose, so he reached out to pet Rocket on the side. He knew he hated this, and if Rocket really was awake, it would be sure to get his attention.

Rocket noticed Peter’s silence. However, he had not heard footsteps yet, so he must have still been in the room. And then suddenly, he felt his fur being pet. Contrary to popular belief, propagated by Rocket himself, the raccoon loved to be pet. So initially, he enjoyed the gesture. Yet, as he remembered how he felt about how he felt about petting, Rocket sharply recoiled, growling at Peter.

“You are awake!” Peter’s face immaturely lit up at his instigation.

“You know I hate that!” Rocket shouted. “Makes me feel like a flarkin animal…”

Quill’s face instantly shifted to worry. “Sorry, I just didn’t know how else to get your attention. And, Rocket, you’re not an animal. You’re just as much a person as any of us,” he assured the raccoon.

“Well, you’ve got my attention now, happy?”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. It’s not like you to get all lonesome and quiet… alright, maybe the loner thing, but not like this. I mean, what do you even do in here for hours on end?"

“Nothing…” fear was easing its way back into Rocket.

“Nothing.” Quill repeated.

“Did I stutter?” Rocket bit back defensively.

“No, but-”

The raccoon was aggravated now. “Then what’s the problem?”

“God, Rocket, can’t you just be honest with me?”

Rocket thought about that, and went silent. No, he thought to himself, he couldn’t. He hadn’t been honest with him for months about the way he felt. But it didn’t end there. It was the whole group, really. Maybe he was still getting used to having a family, or maybe he was just broken like that, but he still didn’t feel too comfortable opening up to his shipmates (Groot aside, for the most part anyway). His guilt started to make a caustic comeback.

“Rocket,” Peter started quietly, “Please. Let me help you.”

The way Peter Quill had just said his name made Rocket shiver. The warmth, the care infected him. How he longed to hear him call him like that, for any other being to show him that love, particularly Peter.. And in the moment, Rocket’s feelings for Peter overcame his shame and stubbornness.

“... it’s embarrassing,” he finally admitted. Maybe I can do this, Rocket thought

Peter relaxed a tad. He was glad that Rocket trusted him enough to do this. “No shame here, man. Remember, Askavarians…” He winced comically at the memory.  
Rocket, too, winced. He painfully mused to himself that even a tentacled beast like that could hold Star-dork’s attention, and he couldn’t.

“I don’t give a flark about your shitty sex life,” Rocket half joked/lied. “This is different. It’s flarkin shameful, and stupid.”

“What, are you hooked on porn or something?” asked Quill in a failure to lighten the mood.

Rocket stared gravely at the half-terran. “Get out.”

“Rocket,” Quill began, but was interrupted.

“GET OUT,” Rocket shouted, turning away. Fuck Quill, him and his stupid jokes. Stupid Quill, thinks this is all just funny, he thought, simmering.

Peter put his hands on the procyon’s shoulders. Rocket did not welcome the gesture, but was too tired to shake him off. “I promise, I will not judge you for whatever it is that you’re doing locked up in your room. I care about you and I’m worried, please, let me help you with this.”

As the raccoon turned, he stared into Peter’s eyes, and could not help but lose himself in them. His being so tired did not help his control of himself.

“I… I’m…” Rocket mumbled the next few words.

“What?” Quill asked. He was so close.

“I watch…” Again, the last bit was lost.

“C’mon, Rocket, I can’t hear you.”

“I WATCH FRIENDS, OKAY?” Rocket shouted, releasing his so valued secret.

Now Peter was confused. He had never heard of “Friends” before; it was part of a Terra he never knew. “...What’s that?”

Rocket internally facepalmed. How could he have been so stupid? Friends was from the 90s, Quill wouldn’t know a damned thing about it. Fighting every step of the way, Rocket went on to explain his guilty pleasure. “It’s a terran TV program from the decade after you left. But it ain’t just that. All that terran pop culture shit, I’m hooked Quill. I just watch flarkin TV in here all day long.”

Peter was now shocked. Not in a bad way, but just stunned. That’s what Rocket did in his room? He watched TV?! Had this been any other situation, Peter would have laughed his ass off. Rocket Raccoon, the swearing, drinking, gun-toting mastermind was a sucker for terran television programming. You couldn’t write that shit. And it was the damn cutest thing Peter had ever heard. But he didn’t quite recognize that last thought, let alone voice it.

Quill remembered the great power of television, and what it could do to people. Saturday morning cartoons and Star Trek had dominated his childhood.  
“Rocket… TV is pretty addictive if I remember right. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, it isn’t healthy, but it’s not this big awful thing.”

The raccoon didn’t respond, still hung up on something. Rocket knew that at this rate, he’d end up telling Peter more that he hadn’t planned on.

“But how’d you even find out about any of this stuff? I didn’t know you were interested in Terra.” In fact, Rocket had usually regarded the planet and its people with disdain.

And that was the big question. Rocket didn’t even think to lie he was so tired. “Don’t flarkin ask me that. Please.”

What Peter perceived in the raccoon’s voice scared him. It was a pain and shame stronger than any he’d already expressed that night, coupled with fear. He had no idea how to react. It was Rocket; sure, the raccoon had been a little distant and secretive lately, but he kicked ass. It wasn’t like him to get emotional, much less vulnerable. So he just sat there next to Rocket on the bed, eyes ablaze with worry. Eventually, he gathered a few words to speak. “I can respect that… maybe I’ll just go…” He waited for Rocket’s answer before moving.

“Yeah, maybe you should.”

Sad and frustrated he couldn't do more, Peter left it at that, and slowly walked out of Rocket and Groot’s quarters. Rocket wasn’t hurting himself or anyone else, so whatever else Rocket was hiding from the other Guardians could wait. But Peter couldn’t stop thinking about how Rocket had acted. Rocket, one of the strongest members of the team, always ready with a snippy insult and cool as anyone. To see him so pained was unbearable for Peter. The half-terran was so consumed by his own reflections that he nearly walked right into Gamora.

“Did you learn anything?” She asked simply.

Peter shrugged. “Kinda. He watches TV when he’s in there. Terran television programming.”

Gamora showed great confusion. “Terran television? Why?”

“Well, it’s really addicting… but he wouldn’t tell me what got him into it…

Shaking her head, Gamora mused “That rodent is perhaps the strangest of all of us.”

Quill’s brow furrowed. “Hey, he isn’t just any rodent. He’s Rocket,” he retorted firmly.”

“Rocket, yes. My mistake,” she said stiffly as she returned to her own room. Quill hadn’t meant to be so short with her, and was a little put off by it.

Back in his quarters, Rocket tried to get some sleep. He tossed and turned on the humanoid sized bed, for once sick of his obsession. He had come so close to expressing his love for Peter. The da’st idiot just made it too difficult for him. Coming into his room with all his warm, fuzzy caring. Getting him to open up about his feelings. He was impossible not to love, he didn’t know how Gamora kept herself away. He’d have to be more careful next time. Why was this so difficult? He’d escaped from twenty-three different prisons, he’d claimed numerous high-paying bounties, he’d built weapons that could destroy small moons. But he was a fool for Peter Quill. When had he grown so soft? With this last thought bouncing around his brain, the procyon fell asleep at last, dreaming, of course, of Quill and himself together.


	2. A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 2!

The next “morning” (space has no real mornings or nights) Peter announced there would be a group meeting, and all gathered around the table of the common area in the Milano to hear just what the captain had to say, even Rocket. Although he played it like nothing had been going on for the past month or two, he was not too eager to face Quill that morning, or the rest of the crew, now that he knew they were worrying about him. If there was anything that Rocket didn’t like, especially now that he was awake and functioning, it was people compensating for him or worrying about him. It made him feel weak and small, preying upon his insecurities. But nevertheless, he was there. And it had been of some comfort for Peter to downplay his obsession last night like it was a normal thing. Even though the real problem still remained, it was nice to know he wasn't a complete freak.

“Everybody’s here?” Quill asked arbitrarily, really looking for Rocket. “So we’ve worked really hard in the past few weeks, and we’ve got a crap ton of units put away, so I thought we deserve a little break. Which is why, get ready for this, I thought we should take a nice little vacation.” Smiling like an idiot, he was very pleased with his presentation.

“Is this why we have been aimlessly floating through space for three days?” Drax asked.

Deflated, Peter replied “Yes, Drax… I have no idea where we should go. Which is why I’ve gathered you all here this morning! If there’s anywhere in the galaxy you could go, where would it be?”

Groot was the first to answer, and in his typical fashion. And had Rocket not been furred, his face would have paled.

“Could you translate, buddy?” Quill asked Rocket.

“What?”

“What Groot said.”

“Oh. Uh, he wants to visit… Knowhere again.”

“I am Groot.”

“Fine, fine. He said he wants to see Terra.”

Peter and Gamora shared a concerned look, but Drax was all for it.

“I would also very much like to see Peter Quill’s homeworld. We have all heard so much about it.”

A little uneasily, Gamora also expressed her interest. “I… have also been interested in this planet. It would make for a very interesting trip. Is this alright with you, Peter?”

Peter hadn’t even considered how he felt about returning to his home planet yet. He hadn’t a single time since he’d left Terra. But now, he supposed he’d be ready to pay a visit.

“Yeah. I guess I am. Could even reconnect with family. You know, it could be really fun. Is Terra good for you Rocket?”

All eyes turned to the raccoon.

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t it be, Quill?”

Breathing out, Peter proclaimed, “Alright, then to Terra we go!”

“How long will the journey take?” Gamora inquired.

Deflated once again, Peter replied,”Well… we’re just about on the other side of the universe… I figured we’d want to go to Knowhere, so I kind of…”

“I am Groot?”

Rocket translated, “How many days are we talking, Quill?”

“We will probably have to stop for gas along the way… so... seven.”

The Guardians erupted in a chorus of purposefully over- dramatic, impatient sighs and groans as Peter ran to the cockpit to change the Milano’s course, laughing in spite of himself.

A short while later, Rocket was about to hole himself back up in his quarters with his tablet. He had desperately tried to resist; he even tried building a bomb, but he could not. Quietly, he snuck down the corridor, making sure no one was looking, when he suddenly hit a wall of pants. Looking up, he saw Quill, smiling.

“Hey, Rocket.”

“Quill, whya standing outside my door?”

“I was waiting for you…”  
“... Why you flarkin doing that?” asked the raccoon snippily as if it wasn't the one thing he wanted.

“Well, you’re going to watch Friends, right? I wanted to know if I could watch with you. Gamora and Drax have the first two shifts, so I have some off time,” the half-terran shyly asked.

Struggling, Rocket pushed him away. “Get out of the way, Quill.”

“Please, Rocket? I’ve been cut off from Terran culture for twenty years and I’m not good with the UD like you are. Besides, if you’re going to be in there, I don’t want you to be alone.” Quill said the last bit in quiet apposition.

Rocket considered this for a while. If anything, there was nothing Rocket wanted more than to cuddle up with Peter and watch his terran garbage all day long. He doubted the cuddling would ever happen, but this was close. But would he be able to contain himself?

Screw it, he thought. “Fine, you da’st idiot, rot your brain too. Now will you let me in to my own room?”

Ecstatic, Peter threw open the door and hurried inside. He curled up on the bed, ready to watch. Why the flark does he have to be so friggin cute, Rocket asked the universe as he queued up his tablet. They’d start from the beginning, he supposed, no sense in dropping quill in the middle of season eight. Rocket tried to avoid the coming trial one last time. “You’re sure you want to get into this? You said it yourself, this crap is pretty habit-forming.”

“Hey, as long as we can do it together, it won’t be so bad,” Quill said.

Rocket felt like he was in a fantasy. Whether he knew it or not, Quill had just consented to spending copious amounts of time with the raccoon, alone, in his room. But Rocket tried not to get his hopes up, dismissing the offending thoughts. He and Peter were good friends, and he wasn’t about to go and let anything ruin that. Voluntarily anyway. With this in mind, Rocket joined Quill on the bed, tablet in hand.

Twenty or so episodes later, the entirety of the first season, Peter Quill slumped back down on the bed. “Oh my God, Rocket, how do you even leave this room? That was amazing! Ugh Rachel and Ross, and that Phoebe is hilarious. Please tell me there are more,” the half-terran begged.

Rocket only smiled. “There are nine whole other seasons, ten in all.”  

“Then tomorrow, during Drax’s and Gamora’s shifts again, we can watch season two?” Quill pleaded, with nothing short of puppy dog eyes. How could Rocket say no?

“You’re on, Star-dork.”

“Alright, it’s a date!” Peter exuded getting off the bed. “I can’t wait to see what happens next, wow, ten whole seasons!” He continued, but Rocket didn’t hear a word of it. A date? That sentence completely occupied his mind. Surely, Quill had been joking. He didn’t actually mean he wanted to make this a date thing, that he wanted to go out with Rocket or anything. No, surely not. “Well, I better get up to the cockpit and let Drax get some rest,” Peter finished, jolting Rocket out of his thoughts. “And… hey, if you want to talk about, well, anything, you know where you can find me. We will be enroute to Terra for a whole week.” With that, Peter Quill left Rocket and Groot’s quarters.

And the half-terran suddenly felt alone.

He stopped cold a short way down the corridor to the cockpit, considering this feeling. Alone… Rocket’s absence was particularly noticeable. Did he really have to leave the procyon’s room? A few minutes couldn’t hurt, and Drax would hardly mind. A little impulsively, Peter made to return to the room he had just left. But he stopped again. Peter enjoyed the hell out of Rocket’s company, but what was this sudden pang of need? He’d never felt it for the raccoon before. Yet, curiously enough, Quill now felt like something that had just clicked so rightly into place in his life was displaced.

Rocket was his friend. He occupied a special place in Quill’s heart, as all the Guardians did. But none of the others incurred this… separation anxiety? No, that was a little too strong. But not far off the mark. Could it be that the fuzzy little guy had come to own a deeper part of the half-terran’s affections? A little stunned, Peter turned tail and headed back to the cockpit, unsure of what he might have just obliviously fallen into.

Meanwhile, back in his room, Rocket, too, felt lonely. He merely lay spread out on his bed, staring at the ceiling. One minute Quill had illuminated his space, and now it was back to an insufficient normal. Again, inciting his guilt, the procyon’s mind wandered to what the previous scene could have been, how he wished he and Peter had left things. Quickly banishing such thoughts, Rocket sat himself up. He could control this, he could beat it. He looked over to his tablet, still on the bed as well. I can control that, too, the raccoon thought staunchly. He swung his legs over the side and heaved himself onto his feet. Rocket would go and get a little something to eat, and then build a weapon powerful enough to tear through a large war ship. That would do the trick.

“Protein bar,” Rocket said aloud, entering the kitchenette of the MIlano. Without much thought, he navigated the counter, and then the higher cabinets, until he located his prize. Unwrapping the little, energy filled morsel, the raccoon took a bite. Good, so far so good. Eating a protein bar. Standing on the counter. Not thinking about Quill. Except for that thought. And about his perfect ass….

Frustrated, the procyon moved to his weapons. Reclaiming his tools and materials (there was a small tech-station on the new Milano), Rocket began filling his brain with plans and blueprints complex enough to blot out any unwanted images. Like a certain member of the crew.  A certain member of the crew and the leather jacket he wore, tight around his toned body. Rocket growled in anger. This was impossible. It seemed like the more the raccoon wanted to stop thinking about Peter Quill, the stronger his feelings grew for the man.

And then a thought struck Rocket. What if he could not shake or control these feelings? What if they only grew, what if they were just some accident that would get him kicked off the ship waiting to happen? At that, the procyon grabbed ahold of what of his project had begun to form and tore it apart. He knew only one, mindless activity could deter his torturous thoughts. Rather defeated, Rocket slowly sulked back to his quarters to his tablet. He passed Drax along the way.

“Hello, fuzzy one,” the tattooed man greeted warmly.

Rocket only slowed down. “Hey, Drax.”

“I think you’ll be glad to hear that the ship is insect free.”

The raccoon sighed. “Yeah. Glad.”


	3. For Real, This Time

Peter squirmed in the pilot’s chair, having had a whole shift of autopilot watch duty to think on his own. He had feelings for Rocket. Of course, he had always cared for him, but of late, and only now had he noticed it, Quill had developed something more for the raccoon. He wasn’t sure when, but it sure as hell had happened. That little pang of loneliness (which had only grown, by the way) was what woke the half-terran up to it. He had always liked spending time with the raccoon. But now he seemed to want to spend time with the guy. Alone. And Quill was okay with that, he was as fluid as they come. What terrified him about these feelings was how Rocket would react if he ever found out. Peter figured there would be lots of claws, bruises, and even teeth. And none of those things in a fun way. Yeah, he’d been making progress in their relationship, getting the procyon to open up to him, but that was scarcely evidence of a deeper longing. What he’d be asking for, if Quill could even dare to ask Rocket, would be a giant leap forward. And Rocket and he were good friends aside. But they could be more. And that idea had gripped Peter Quill, despite any negative outcomes he could think of.

Just then, Rocket entered the cockpit. It was his turn to fly the ship after all. And Peter felt like he was on a roll today, so why waste it? 

“Rocket?”

Rocket was surprised to hear his own name. “Well it is my turn to look after the da’st thing. So I’m here.” He had just watched half of season 9 of Friends, and was pretty mellowed out. But what he heard in Peter’s voice was beginning to bring him out of that. There was a fear, or rather a shyness. A vulnerability that couldn’t mean anything good. And then those eyes. Quill’s eyes, so expressive, displayed his heart like an open book. He was about to ask a question about something he was dying to know the answer to, but at the same time dreaded. “Why ya staring at me like that?” Rocket demanded, unsure as to how this was going to play out, but guarded nevertheless.

Peter desperately tried to ask his question. “I… well, I was, well, wondering if, ah, I don’t know.”

“Geez, Quill, spit it out.” It was unlike the half-terran to be so un-smooth, and that set an almost eerie tone for the conversation. And Quill getting all nervous was way too cute for his own good.

“Alright,” Quill began, taking a deep breath. It would seem that asking someone what drink he could buy them and asking someone to enter into what could only become a complex romantic relationship required two entirely different skill sets. “I don’t know where you fall on the whole… well… okay. Do you maybe want to actually make the TV session... a date date tomorrow?” he almost whispered. The half-terran was staring at the floor, unable to meet the eyes of who he was positive would be an offended, if not disturbed raccoon. He mentally kicked himself for being so forward.

But Rocket couldn’t have minded less. The question caught him completely dumbfounded. Surely, the raccoon was dreaming. This couldn’t actually be happening. Quill asking him out? For real? No. But then the procyon met his fellow Guardian’s eyes. The sheer anticipation, the longing flooded him. He was determined to question this sudden output of emotion, to attack what surely was some cruel joke. But as he searched for the words to accuse, he found none. He knew what Quill had asked was genuine. 

Rocket could barely believe this was happening. “You. want to go out. On a date. With me?”

“Yes,” Quill reiterated with a nod of his head. He hoped he would still have all of his fingers after this fiasco. The raccoon wasn’t moving very much, nor seeming to emote. And that could be a very bad sign. 

However, Rocket was really just lost in his own thoughts. Someone wanted him. And of all people, whether or not it was even a lasting feeling, that person was Peter Quill. Starlord. Was it even possible? It seemed so, as Quill stared him in the face, his expression continually becoming more and more worried at Rocket’s lack of a response. His immobility finally began to register, and he simply asked, “Why?”

Peter had expected something like this in the few scenarios he’d hurriedly been able to consider; he was just relieved to get a response. “I really care about you, Rocket. And that isn’t stopping. I mean, you’re my friend, and I care about you, but I guess it’s more than that now, so… but if you want nothing to do with this, I’ll shut up and nev-”

“What are you saying?” Rocket was confused. It sounded like Quill was saying he might love him. But that was improbable. Quill? Perfect, warm, sweet Quill? He had no business loving a little freak like me, Rocket thought. Peter deserved better than some flarked-up lab rat. 

And then he said it.

“I’m saying that I think I really like you, Rocket. I might even love you… But I mean it’s way too early for that anyway and… well… ” Peter trailed off at that, again shyly looking at the floor. This was going awfully; this he had not expected. Rocket seemed to be in complete shock; he was terrified of what would happen when it wore off. 

The procyon was shocked, yes, but, struggling. His fantasy was coming to life. He didn’t want to get his hopes up about what would happen next, but at the same time any part of that dream coming to fruition was a surreal blessing. But at the same time, he could barely accept that it was happening. He wasn’t quite convinced that Quill was serious yet. His life had taught him to distrust, especially perceived opportunity. 

Peter was now rather worried for a different reason. Rocket had essentially stopped functioning. “Rocket?”

No response came. “Rocket.” He whistled, but the raccoon remained statuesque. Then, the half-terran gripped the his shoulders. Dragged out off his shock, Rocket looked to Quill. And losing himself in the man’s eyes again, Rocket let himself believe just a little bit that he might not actually be dreaming or be being tricked. He put his hand on Peter’s forearm, and the half-terran’s face lit up like a star. At Quill’s infectious joy, Rocket let himself believe a little bit more.

“You sure about this Quill?” the raccoon asked firmly. 

Peter brought his other hand to Rocket, kneeling completely and joining his hands at the base of the procyon’s back. 

“Yeah, I think I am.” He smiled brilliantly, leaning in close.

Now, Rocket was at ease, relaxed even. In Quill’s arms, he felt the security to do that; it was scary, but exhilarating. He leaned right in, too, and his lips touched the half-terran’s, begging entrance. He happily complied. All Rocket could think was, this is actually happening. Even if only for the moment, and now he even dared to hope that this… whatever it was would last longer than the moment. Peter liked him. A lot. And that was what mattered. Gently, Quill pulled out of the kiss. Grinning, he embraced the procyon. Dazed, Rocket hugged back.

He had his confidence again, back in the driver’s seat of his life. 

“Uh, Quill?” 

“Yeah, Ranger Rick?”

“I do kinda have to look after the ship.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Peter smiled. Rocket had been vulnerable in the moment, but now he was himself again. Now that he thought of it, the raccoon definitely wouldn’t be one to be so generous with affection. Not in public, anyway. Public… a new thought struck the half-terran. “Oh God, Rocket, the others. Do we-”

“Let’s keep this quiet for now…” The procyon was overjoyed at this new development, but he wasn’t quite comfortable yet with being so open about it. 

“Okay,” Peter replied, understanding completely. “I’ll go find something to do then. Wouldn’t want any suspicion.”

Rocket dared to smile too, at ease to see that Quill understood. “Yeah.”

“Alright. See you in twelve… Rocky.” Overly pleased with his choice of a nickname, Peter swiftly ducked out of the cockpit of the Milano before Rocket could react.

Still grinning, the raccoon chuckled to himself. “Pfft. Stardork…” But not just a Stardork anymore. He was his Stardork now. And that meant life was good.

 

Peter Quill opened his eyes. Half asleep, he fumbled pitifully in an attempt to get out of bed. Only then did he begin to think. Another day… in space at least. Hmmm… where are my pants? Ah… hungry, now. Breakfast? Maybe. I wonder what we have… Who’s even up? At that, the half-terran looked at his bedside clock. He’d slept about twelve hours. That meant Gamora was just taking her shift as pilot. Drax was probably still sleeping, he always prefered to be functioning on a good night’s sleep. Groot was probably in stasis, or poking around the kitchen waiting for another Guardian to spend quality time with. And that just left Rocket, who was probably-

“Rocket!” Peter exclaimed, sitting up like lightning. He grimaced at the resultant headrush, but still staggered out of bed and into some clothes (just sweatpants and a shirt). Memories of his previous encounter with Rocket began to resurface, shining brightly in his brain. It was tomorrow. And tomorrow meant watching terran television with a certain genetically-modified raccoon whose company he enjoyed. Really enjoyed. And he had proof the feeling was mutual. 

Ever since Peter had identified his feelings for Rocket, a small void opened up in his life, even though nothing had been taken from him. And the more he thought about the procyon, the more the hole seemed to grow. But now, Quill could feel no such hole. He couldn’t help but beam on his way down the corridor to Rocket’s door, a spring in his step. Thankfully, no one was around to see, because Peter didn’t think he’d be able to control his joy. He really didn’t mind keeping his and Rocket’s newly defined relationship a secret for now; he knew it would come out eventually, and it would only be when Rocket was ready. He knew Rocket wasn’t ashamed of him. The raccoon was, as had been said, just pretty bad at the whole feelings thing. Whatever it was that they were getting into currently was a whole mess of feelings, and Peter figured Rocket would need a while before he got the ropes of it all. Even though that process would be quite the ride, Peter was more than happy to go along with it. He felt that he and Rocket really had something special. It was the whole “good friends falling for each other” thing, surely something he’d never had before for real. However he had tried with Gamora, it simply hadn’t worked out, they were just too different. Quill wanted to give this the best chance of survival. And if it didn’t work out? He hadn’t thought of that…

Presently, the half-teran arrived at Rocket and Groot’s quarters. Along with his doubts, the door was swept away at his touch. There sat Rocket, in his boxers, clutching his tablet. At the sound of the door, Rocket tensed up.

“Geez, Quill, thought you mighta knocked…” Embarrassed, Rocket, swiftly straightened up and went to his dresser to find something to put on, making a serious effort not to turn his back to his visitor. The raccoon was very conscious of his body, particularly the implants and scars on his back. They disgusted the procyon, forcing on him, at their memory, memories of his torture on Half-world. And like everything else that he hated, they reminded him of what he was: a freak.

“It’s okay, Rocket. I really don’t mind…” Unless you’re not comfortable with that level of… unclothedness (?) yet, Quill thought. He kicked himself for not seeing that the raccoon’s thick intimacy boundary definitely wouldn’t just go away at “yes.”

Rocket stopped slowly what he was doing to study Quill after he had finished speaking. Had he really just said that? Like he’d read the procyon’s mind? Surely he couldn’t have. But Rocket wasn’t inclined to question his heightened senses. He searched the half-terran for any sign of comedy or deceit. Quill seemed so nervous and awkward. Which, Rocket had learned, meant that he was being starkly genuine, vulnerable even. Looking Peter straight in the eye, the raccoon searched for something to say, a question to ask. A silence began to build.

Seeing this, Peter decided to go over the bed and sit down. Smiling gently, the half-terran got comfortable and patted the space next to himself, beckoning to Rocket to come and join him. Reluctantly, but at the same time with a burning longing, the procyon joined the humie. His heart rate skyrocketed as he overtook the bed.   
Looking to Quill for help, very anxious as to what would happen next, Rocket froze up again. 

Regardless of the raccoon’s nervous state, Peter had seen enough to know that Rocket was really trying. Unabashed, the half-terran scooped up Rocket, much to his surprise and protest, and snuggled him close, plopping the procyon down into his lap. He hugged him tightly before he had a chance to speak. Maybe if he showed him how okay he was with him, with them...

What bothered Rocket the most, before even being picked up like that, was that Peter was now touching, hugging, his implants. The contact made him shiver and squirm in utter discomfort at first, Peter’s warm skin against the cold metal of the devices. Seldom did anyone ever touch him there, and those awful few times were coming to the front of his mind. But shortly after this sensation, Rocket recognized another: the sheer magnitude of Quill’s heat. Not only did the warmth of his body flow into the raccoon, but the tenderness and caring in the firm hug put Rocket at ease. Slowly, he relaxed into Peter; he was safe in those arms.

“That better?” asked Peter softly, kissing Rocket on the top of the head, making the procyon’s ears go down and his cheeks flush. Thank God that had worked.

With a relieved sigh, he responded, “Yeah…” Rocket closed his eyes. This was everything he’d thought it would be, and more. Nothing could break his mood. 

“Uh… Rocket?”

It was too good to be true. He felt as if he’d just be content to sit there and breathe for the whole day/night, whatever time it actually was. Of course, he wouldn’t admit it outright to Quill, but he had no problem with just letting it happen.

“Rocket,” Peter repeated, giving the raccoon a little tap.

Suddenly, Rocket was aware that Peter was talking to him. Shaking himself out, he replied, “What?”, still coming out of the previous moment.

“Uh…” Peter couldn’t quite pin the right words down. “You’re, well, pitching a pretty serious tent there..”

Rocket looked incredulously up at Peter. Try as he might, there was some terran slang he just would never get. In response, Quill, sporting a perhaps devious smile, just pointed to the raccoon’s boxers; he was pretty hard. Blushing furiously under his fur, the raccoon could do naught but laugh nervously. “Would you look at that…”

Getting even closer than he already was, Peter himself began to get excited (as Rocket could feel directly under him, not helping his nerves but only his arousal). “Do you want to-”

“No…” Rocket said immediately, short and quick. “Not yet… I..”

Peter backed off, understanding. “Okay, buddy.” Sure, the anticlimax was disappointing, teasing even, but Quill wouldn’t dream of forcing Rocket into a corner. He was perfectly fine with waiting for Rocket. Sexual interaction was clearly something he’d never done with another being, and it wasn’t something that one could rush into without a few scars (literally). 

On the other hand, in Rocket’s mind, the raccoon was sent into turmoil. He definitely wasn’t ready to… get it on yet. He’d only ever jacked himself off; adding someone else to the equation changed everything. It was a level of intimacy he realized he had never even fathomed. But, primarily, the overwhelming feeling that he’d disappointed Quill and the resultant pressure drove him over the edge with guilt. On top of that, the procyon was plagued by what he perceived as his own weakness. He’d never given heed to emotions like this before, but in the face of the bundle of affection and perfection that was Starlord, Rocket was a goopy mess. It angered him that he didn’t have better control, that he let this whole affair get to him in such a way. But these thoughts couldn’t put him at ease, and they only added to his guilt and pain. 

Then he felt Quill get close again. “No pressure, Rocky. Whenever you’re good with it.” The raccoon looked up to the half-terran again; he was smiling brightly, unphased. “How about some Friends in the meantime?” He hadn’t left, thought Rocket. Could he really just be that happy to be here… with me? Yes. The answer was yes, the raccoon said to himself as he queued up his tablet. 

“You’re on Stardork.”

After another twenty or so episodes, Peter and Rocket decided it was time for a break, having completed the second season already. Eyes straining, Peter exhaled heavily. “Woah. I don’t know how much more of that I can take. Staring at that little screen for hours on end hurts! How do you do it all the time?”  
Rocket chuckled, stowing the tablet away in the compartments under the bed. “It ain’t so bad, once you get used to it. Not that you should.”  
“If only it wasn’t so damn good.”

“You’re telling me.” It was just too good, that was the problem. That, and the best company in the universe. It was really hard to say no to that kind of situation. 

A short, comfortable silence followed, both just content to sit together, cuddled and warm. Rocket broke it.

“Quill?”

Peter, eyes closed, only responded with a “mhmmmm?”

It was Rocket’s turn to get awkward. “Uh, there’s, something I want to… uh…”

The half-terran opened his eyes and looked at the furry being in his lap. “What’s up?” He could see Rocket was getting a little anxious.

“I… I might not be ready for the whole shebang, but maybe… we could start somewhere, what, lower? I mean, higher…”

“Of course, buddy,” came Quill’s reassuring response. “Where shall we start?” he added softly. Suddenly, the raccoon found his face rather close to the half-terran’s scruffiness. 

Brimming with anticipation and excitement, Rocket breathed, “Just a kiss,” and proceeded to lock lips with Peter, craving a repeat of their experience in the cockpit. 

“Alright,” Peter attempted to speak into Rocket’s mouth.


	4. Perspective

      Gamora looked out into the vast expanse of space and wondered at the universe. Not long enough ago, but then again it would never be distant enough, she had been a dutiful agent of her wretched "father". And how cold that kept her in the recesses of whatever galaxy the _Milano_ was crossing. But what kept that at bay  _was_ the _Milano._ Well, rather what it stood for: a family. It may have been a family of perhaps the biggest assholes in the galaxy, but they were her friends. There must be something to be said for being assholes together, for that matter. Regardless, this was neither the first nor the last time Gamora would sit at the ship's helm for ponderance. The Universe worked in mysterious ways indeed.  

      But there was perhaps no greater mystery than Peter Quill. Drax she felt she could understand, and Rocket to a lesser degree. Both had experienced great loss and performed great acts of violence and had come off apparently no less emotionally scarred than herself (although it manifested itself in increasingly different ways, she mused on the side). Yet Quill, who had experienced all those things, having been abducted by ravagers at a young age and losing his mother, had this incredible lust for life, and a heart rather unbefitting of a ravager as well. His great care, of the rodent in particular... 

      At that, Gamora corrected herself, remembering her encounter with the half-Terran captain of the ship however long ago it was (not long). And she agreed: it really was not fair to call Rocket a rodent; though it was a biological fact, he was, as a person, which he was undeniably so, much more than those garbage rifling scavengers the Terrans called raccoons. 

      Even still. The Captain's great compassion and distaste for the strife of his crew members was powerful. Infectious even, as it had proved to bind the Guardians together as a group, ultimately. So if there was anyone who could get through to Rocket, it was him. However, it appeared to Gamora that Quill, despite his report that Rocket was no danger to himself or others, not doubting their accuracy, had failed to some degree. Whatever it was that Rocket was doing, Quill himself was completely hooked into. Few things escaped the ex-assassin's notice, but the errors Quill presented in secrecy, if he had even attempted secrecy, were glaring. Instead of having brought Rocket back into group settings, Quill was merely spending Rocket's time hidden away participating in whatever it was he did. She didn't completely buy the whole Terran television explanation. It was a start, but where would it lead? Perhaps she should have taken a more active role in the proceedings... although, and she would admit it to herself, she was not very good at "feelings," as Quill had pointed out, but she thought she understood Rocket enough to make some progress. Perhaps things would work themselves out on Terra? There were many possibilities. But that was just what, Gamora supposed, made "feelings" so difficult: The actions of one person were not difficult to predict with given information; yet adding other beings to the mixture enumerated the possibilities, and it required even more information to decide which possibilities to rule out immediately, and which to actually consider. Those bits of information, in any case of Guardian interactions, she could easily get. However she refused to unleash the full potential of her espionage talents on her adopted family. Thus heaps more of guesswork than she was accustomed to were introduced...

      Drax's voice sounded from behind, breaking Gamora's train of thought. "It is my turn at the helm, friend Gamora," came the blunt statement. It begged no questions, needed no reply. If nothing else, Gamora had come to appreciate the man's great bluntness and prevailing honesty of being. There was no need for speculation; what you saw was what you got, and there were no social superfluities attached.

      "Thank you, Drax." Gamora unseated herself and made way for her quarters, passing down from the cockpit along the crew hallway. 

      But as she stopped to activate the mechanism of her door, Gamora thought better of it. Her shift had left her more than a little hungry, so she went to the common area of the ship instead for a quick snack. As she recounted what may be left over in the fridge, she noticed that, there, at the table, sat the Rocket Raccoon eating some reheated leftover, apparently gripped by a similar whim as Gamora's. When the procyon noticed the green Guardian, his eyes went comically wide, as if he had been caught in an indecent act. There were no words for several minutes, and then a small smile crept onto Gamora's face, in spite of herself. This vulgar warrior that was Rocket Raccoon had been converted into a child with his hand in a cookie jar, even if only for a few moments. It was a strange moment for him to resurface in, and she wondered at what could be his why. At the change, Rocket regained his normal, snarling composure.  

      "What?" he dared.

      Surprised as though she was, Gamora made no reply, but instead, still smiling, moved to the refrigerator to fix herself something to eat as she'd intended. Rocket watched her as she did, trying not to be too obvious. He started to panic; Quill was waiting for him in his room. And then that though gripped him; he had left Peter in a bit of a huff. Well, not really a huff, but it was strange. In the middle of a particularly drawn out and passionate kiss, Rocket had felt suddenly vaguely uncomfortable. And then the feeling grew. And he had to leave. Shoving those feelings aside, Rocket remembered the matter at hand- if he was gone too long, the humie might come looking for him. And then would Gamora have such a flarkin' field day....

      Of course, despite the procyon's efforts, Gamora caught all. Rocket was scarcely ever so tensed aboard the ship. No, not tensed, this was a nervousness, and one so unbefitting the raccoon's usual hard shell. Sitting down, she engaged her finer observation at the puzzlement Rocket provided. Firstly, his fur was ruffled. Not noticeably, but as if it had been rather ruffled, but then someone attempted to fix it. Second, his posture was between relaxed and straight, as if he had been rather relaxed, but was putting an effort into hiding that as well. And finally, his flightsuit was ever-so-slightly undone at the top; this was perhaps the most interesting of all. Rocket, for all his crudeness, was seldom an unprepared individual. He was sharp and on top of things. And he was viciously protective of his body, and thus the zipper, however slight the error, stuck out like a sore thumb. All of it summed up to very few possibilites, but one surety: Rocket was hiding something.

      Rocket, who indeed was sharp, even in his love-drunkish state, knew immediately that Gamora was analyzing him, and that remaining in the room was very dangerous. Now, not only could Quill barge in and display the situation in his face like a florescent bar sign, but soon enough Gamora would get a good enough read on him to know all she needed to. He began to formulate his escape.

      If anyone looked in on this gathering, it would appear either very odd, or on the brink of an explosion: Gamora and Rocket sat opposite each other, food forgotten, peering unblinkingly into the other's eyes, but not really making any contact. It was a genuine meeting of minds. But fate had other ideas for this contest, as a third party was incumbent upon intrusion. Peter sat waiting for Rocket's return in his bunk (Rocket's bunk). The furry Guardian had left in a bit of a huff. They were kissing, and it was reaaaaallly good. Kisses with Rocket were not like kisses with other alien races: his muzzle was not quite accustomed to what humanoids had dubbed making out. It was more of a tongue... handshake? Regardless of how quill thought he might define it, it was great. But then Rocket had tensed up and left, making for a confused and concerned Starlord. Quill to no avail looked for his mistake. He hadn't pushed, Rocket had taken the lead, and he was encouraging and accommodating... That was all fine. Perhaps, it seemed a good, old-fashioned talking out would do, then. He was quickly learnign how he could effectively get Rocket to open up to him, so why not? But Rocket had been gone a while. This wouldn't be too easy in any event. With Friends still paused on the procyon's tablet, Quill made the decision to go looking for his little friend (more than that now, he thought with a grin despite the situation). Gamora would be in her bunk for sure by now, and Drax at the helm, so all was clear. His shirt had come off at some point, but there was no point in putting it back on as only Rocket would be out there.   

      Meanwhile, Rocket felt as though he had a plan. He knew he couldn't totally shake Gamora, but he could at least get out from under her piercing stare. All he needed was....

      And suddenly there was Peter. 

      "Rocket, is everything alright? You-" The half-Terran looked up, saw Gamora, and froze. The rest of that sentence included several words, many that Gamora should not hear. And suddenly, Quill also realised that he was half naked- something he didn't mind at all, but it was revealing in more ways than that. He knew he had no chance of recovering from the tactical blunder on his own, so he cast Rocket a desperate glance. Internally Rocket facepalmed. He loved the guy, but sometimes he was just too cute for his own good. And by cute he meant painfully obvious when his guard was down. There was no easy way out of this one.

      Gamora cocked an eyebrow. Shirtless Peter Quill narrowed the few possibilities she'd been considering even further. Oh did she have them now; how adorable it was, in all truth. But there was no need to push the subject. Peter's innocently revealing appearance, as well as the look on Rocket's face at the occurrence were enough to confirm her suspicions. There was far more than a tablet they were turning on in Rocket's quarters. With a satisfied gaze, Gamora stood and took her food to her quarters. The Universe was a mysterious place indeed.

 

      Angry and (though he'd never admit it) afraid, Rocket stormed off to his quarters. Stupid Gamora and her stupid powers of observation. Stupid Quill and his cute little shirtless ass. Gamora knew. He could see it in her eyes, and he even saw that she saw he saw she saw in his eyes. Everything would have just been fine if Quill hadn't barged in, would have been fine if he hadn't left the room, would have been fine if he-

      "Rocket?" It was halfway between a whisper and trying to jolt someone out of a trance. But then Rocket realized he was back in his quarters and Quill had followed him. 

      "She knows. Thanks to you." That last bit was colder than he'd intended it to be, but Rocket didn't care. Somehow, this was Quill's fault. He'd done nothing. 

      "Alright, that's not fair. I came looking for you because I was getting a little worried. You just... left."

      The procyon wasn't quite listening, every other word or so registering in his mind. All he could focus on was that Gamora knew, and he could not figure out what that would bring. An that unknown scared him more than anything else. Just another sign of how Quill made him weak. This love, this fear, these emotions... who could deal with them alone? He was better of killing them as he had before, shoving them out of sight and out of mind. That was his strength. Suddenly, though, Rocket felt a rather warm embrace that reminded him he did not have to face it alone. 

      Peter saw that Rocket had gone internal again, something he had noted happened when his emotions threatened to escape him. Feeling particularly adventurous, Quill decided a simple hug might be most effective; he was right. Rocket softened at his touch, leaning into the embrace. There was silence, so the half-Terran decided he would do the talking. "If she knows, she knows. Besides, it looked more like she was delighted simply to crack the code, I don't think we'll have a problem with her about us. Alright?" At the firm question, the two separated a bit, Quill looking for an answer. 

      Rocket looked up. The humie's voice was just so soothing. With Peter's help, he'd stuffed his fears back into their box. Those weaknesses still ate mildly away at him, but he was still getting used to his new relationship with Peter; a situation in which, he may actually be able to effectively deal with such threats to his sanity. But that was still to come, he thought gravely. Even still, the idea gave way to another. 

      "Yeah," he responded. "But there's something else I've gotta say." Here went nothing.

      Peter was surprised. Rocket was initiating what seemed like a "mushy" conversation. That was new, for sure. "What's up?" he asked, relaxing his embrace further to a comfortable level for conversation.

      The procyon breathed deeply before speaking. Was he really going to open up like this? It seemed like he was, of his own accord. A new step indeed. "I... I think, well... maybe the kissing is a little... much, you know, already? I don't know... I-"

      But Rocket could see that Peter understood; he smiled. So he hadn't made a mistake, Peter thought to himself. "Whatever you feel, buddy," he said in reply. "Friends then?" the humie inquired eagerly, grabbing Rocket's tablet.

      _What did I do to deserve you?_ Rocket thought to himself as he agreed, snuggling up close to his Starlord.   


End file.
